


On Prehistoric Earth

by nitilia



Category: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 15:08:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12435366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nitilia/pseuds/nitilia
Summary: Set at the beginning of Life, the Universe, and Everything. The sofa disappears, leaving Ford and Arthur still stuck on prehistoric Earth. Arthur realises that he doesn't want to be alone again. Ford disagrees.





	On Prehistoric Earth

**Author's Note:**

> It bothers me how Ford and Arthur decided to part ways for four years, even thought it meant that they would both end up pretty insane. I mean, it made sense, considering both of their characters, but it's still sad. This is a take on what might have happened if they met after that, and didn't escape the planet after all.
> 
> Also posted on fanfiction.net.

Arthur Dent woke up screaming, which was nothing to worry about and perfectly normal.

 

It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, before he could confirm that yes, he was still alone, yes, he'd been alone for four years now, and no, that wasn't ever going to change.

 

This was also perfectly normal.

 

What was less normal was that he was, a mere minute after screaming in horror, in real excellent spirits. He hummed to himself as he made his way out of the cave, sang instead when the humming reverberated creepily and risked ruining his excellent spirits, and skipped merrily in the direction of nothing in particular.

 

He looked quite mad, and this gave him the best idea he'd had in a while.

 

"I will go mad!" he declared to the sky. It was so good a solution that he didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before. If he went mad none of this would matter. The loneliness, nightmares, and abject misery would all be another crazy figment of his imagination.

 

"I will go mad!" he announced again, in case the sky hadn't heard him the first time.

 

"Good idea!" the sky replied, which was rather awkward, but far from the strangest thing that had happened to Arthur so far.

 

And then Ford Prefect climbed down from the rock he'd been sitting on. "An excellent idea. I've tried it too," he said.

 

Arthur blinked. He looked at Ford. He looked at the rock. He looked back up at the sky, which, unfortunately, hadn't been the one talking after all.

 

He looked back at Ford, who grinned at him in his own mental way.

 

Ford Prefect, was here.

 

"I have gone mad," Arthur realized, a bit admiringly. He'd found something he was good at. Satisfied, he promptly passed out.

 

* * *

 

Ford frowned at the unconscious body on the floor.

 

He prodded it with his shoe. It didn't budge.

 

"Arthur, I've brought tea," he said loudly, which was untrue but not the most cruel thing he'd said. Arthur still didn't budge.

 

Ford rummaged in his satchel for his Sub Etha Sens O Matic while he considered what to do. He could just leave Arthur here. That was the simplest solution. He turned to the sofa, which was bouncing around in excitement of whatever the hell it was doing.

 

He could just leave him here. No point in wasting his time. If he could catch up with the sofa, he'd be a free man. Then maybe one day when he was both a free and paid man he could come back and pick his friend up.

 

He took one step in the direction of the sofa.

 

The sofa took one step back.

 

He needed help to catch it, he reasoned. And, very reasonably, instead of waking Arthur up, he grabbed him by the legs and dragged him across the floor towards the sofa. This did not help him catch it in any way, but Ford was no stranger to leaps of imagination.

 

By some luck he ended up dragging Arthur's head over a few sharp rocks, which woke him up. He decided that this had been his plan all along.

 

"Ow. Ford?"

 

"Hello, Arthur."

 

Arthur looked like he was seriously considering passing out again, so Ford dropped his feet quickly and held out a hand.

 

Arthur stared at it blankly.

 

Ford wiggled his fingers.

 

Arthur looked suspicious.

 

"It's a hand," Ford supplied helpfully. "You shake it."

 

Arthur shook it. Ford wasn't surprised that he was far from steady. He gripped the hand tighter and dragged him up to a standing position. "There's no point in going mad now," he told his friend. "We have a sofa to chase."

 

"I thought you were dead," Arthur said.

 

"So did I," said Ford seriously. "But I was actually in Africa."

 

"What were you doing in Africa?"

 

Ford shook his head. "You wouldn't want to know. Now, back to the sofa."

 

"What sofa?"

 

"That sofa."

 

"Oh, there's a sofa."

 

"It'll take us to a better world."

 

"The sofa?"

 

"YES, the sofa."

 

"Really?"

 

"Do you have to ask so many questions? Just trust me."

 

"I find that very difficult to do."

 

"Well, try."

 

"..."

 

"It's good to see you, by the way. How have you been?"

 

"I'm thinking of going mad."

 

"I wouldn't recommend it. It'll happen on its own eventually, no need to rush things. Now, onwards!"

 

* * *

Arthur hadn't ever expected to see Ford again. He was unreliable, untrustable, didn't like Arthur, and, he was sure, quite dead.

 

But now he was chasing down a pretty fancy sofa in prehistoric earth with him, while Ford screamed something about Eddy and space-time continuum and something that sounded vaguely like a type of laundromat. None of which made any sense to him, but Arthur didn't care because they were words, and it had been four years since he'd heard words that didn't come from his own mouth or the voice in his head that sounded sadly like Zaphod Beeblebrox.

 

He was happy. It was a strange day for him indeed. He could have cried tears of joy.

 

"We're going home!" Ford shouted. Though where and when home was Arthur wasn't quite sure. He didn't even know if Ford had one.

 

Then all of a sudden the sofa blinked out of existence, leaving nothing in its wake.

 

There was a horrible silence.

 

"Well," Ford said, his voice a bit strangled. "That's that."

 

"Perhaps more furniture will turn up?" Arthur tried helpfully.

 

Ford looked suddenly angry. "No," he said. "I'm done with this. Let's just go mad."

 

* * *

 

Four years ago, they had parted ways because he thought Arthur was too boring.

 

This wasn't necessarily an insult. Arthur was his best friend - one of his only friends, really. When he said he was boring he meant it with as much affection as such an insult could be meant with.

 

In the time they'd spent together on Earth before it had been demolished, Arthur had clearly been the person who mattered to him the most. Therefore, he'd saved him from imminent death.

 

But onboard the Heart of Gold, with Zaphod and Trillian and larger, grander adventures, Arthur was dull and bleak, and his solid companionship meant nothing to Ford anymore.

 

Then they ended up stuck on Earth again, and Ford wasn't ready for it. Fifteen years he'd been stuck on this zarking planet. He'd never be ready for it again. So after a year, when Arthur stopped being his best companion and was tilting further into the area of person-who-reminded-him-the-most-about-how-horrible-this-blasted-planet-was, he'd left him for what he'd hoped would be larger, grander adventures.

 

Arthur had been carving chess pieces when he'd told him. Neither of them had known how to play chess.

 

"I'm leaving," he had said abruptly.

 

Arthur gave him a half hearted wave, concentrating on his carvings.

 

Ford turned on his heel and walked away, realized that Arthur hadn't understood, turned on his heel again and walked back to him. This took several minutes.

 

"Forever," he said.

 

"Forever what?"

 

"I'm leaving forever."

 

Arthur stared at him.

 

Ford stared back.

 

"I'm not coming with you?" Arthur asked, confused.

 

"No."

 

"You found a spaceship?"

 

"No."

 

"Where are you going?"

 

Ford shrugged. "I don't know yet."

 

Arthur looked more confused by the second, but that was nothing new. "Why am I not coming with you?" he asked.

 

Ford frowned. "I want to go on an adventure," he said. "You don't, do you? You keep complaining when we do, and I thought, well..."

 

"Oh," Arthur said, realization dawning on his face. "Oh."

 

"Yeah," Ford agreed, though he had no clue what Arthur had understood. He hoped it wasn't something too bad. "Good bye, Arthur," he said hesitantly.

 

Arthur waved again without looking up at him. He was quiet, instead of ranting about everything in his vicinity, which was always a bad sign.

 

* * *

 

Ford was twice as annoying as usual when he was depressed. Thrice as annoying when he was depressed and had nothing alcoholic to drink.

 

"I really thought we were going home," he said quietly, from where he lay next to the fire. Arthur looked up from the meat he'd been prodding in an attempt to cook.

 

"Where is home?" he asked curiously. "You're a hitchhiker."

 

Ford shrugged. "Everywhere is home. Anywhere that you haven't stayed too long."

 

"That sounds like the precise definition of what home isn't."

 

Ford thought for a moment. "Freedom," he decided. "That's what home is. And this planet is not freedom."

 

Arthur could agree with that, but unfortunately for him, home was two million years in the future and in very many pieces.

 

The meat looked to be as good as it was going to get in his hands, so he chopped up a bit of it and handed it to Ford. Ford rolled into a sitting position and chewed on it.

 

"It's been a long time since I ate cooked meat," he confessed, and Arthur suddenly didn't want to know the details.

 

He chewed on his own bit - the burned half, not that Ford would notice or even care. Common courtesy went completely over his head.

 

"I really thought we were going home," Ford said again.

 

"Yes, yes, I know."

 

"Zarking stupid sofa."

 

"Indeed."

 

Ford muttered several dark words that the babelfish translated simply as carrots, carrots, mustang, which was either a mistranslation or, more likely, some world's extremely offensive language.

 

"Indeed," he said regardless.

 

Ford finished his meat, wiped his hands on his pants, and rolled over onto his back. He had that stare that reminded everyone just how far away from here he really belonged.

 

"We'll get more furniture," Arthur told him helpfully. Ford grunted in response.

 

In a few minutes he was asleep.

 

Arthur walked around the fire a few times at a lack of anything else to do. He sat down again when that got old. Then he walked around a bit more.

 

Finally he lay down next to the fire to sleep.

 

* * *

 

He hadn't even drifted off yet when he sat up with a start. He looked around frantically. Ford was still there, snoring obnoxiously, using his satchel as a makeshift and miserable pillow.

 

He lay back down again, his breathing calmed a bit.

 

* * *

 

An hour later, he sat up with a start. He looked around frantically. Ford was still there, snoring obnoxiously.

 

He lay back down again, his breathing calmed a bit.

 

* * *

 

Another hour later, he sat up with a start. He looked around frantically. Ford was still there.

 

He lay back down again, his breathing calmed a bit.

 

* * *

 

Well into what his digital watch told him was early morning, it became clear to Arthur that he wasn't going to get a wink of sleep.

 

Ford Prefect had come back searching for furniture.

 

There was no longer any furniture to be found.

 

Ergo, Ford Prefect was going to leave. If he fell asleep - if for a moment Ford was sure that Arthur wasn't looking, he would probably disappear without a word, leaving Arthur alone again.

 

He gave up on sleep and sat up, poking at the fire, while Ford slept on.

 

* * *

 

"You look terrible," Ford told him.

 

"I didn't sleep," Arthur mumbled.

 

Ford looked surprised. "At all?"

 

Arthur shook his head miserably.

 

"Well, it's not like you have other things to do," Ford told him. "You could sleep all day and no one would bother you."

 

Arthur was instantly suspicious. Did he want him to sleep so that he could make a run for it? Was that his plan?

 

He shook his head. "I'm not sleepy," he lied blatantly. Ford looked unimpressed, but he didn't push it.

 

"So, I was reading the Guide," Ford started.

 

"The guide?"

 

"The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy."

 

"Didn't I throw that into the river?"

 

"I fished it out."

 

"You didn't tell me that."

 

"I didn't want you throwing it in again. Anyway, I was reading about - what are you doing?"

 

Arthur kneeled on the ground and plunged his head into the river water. It was icy cold and an overall very bad idea, since water ran into his nose and he emerged coughing and spluttering.

 

But on the bright side, "I'm awake," he said. "Now, what about the Guide?"

 

"Apparently if we set the entire planet on fire we have a chance of being rescued."

 

"...what?"

 

"You know, like sending up a flare when you're stranded in the ocean."

 

"Set the entire planet on fire?"

 

"It's not like anyone here would be missed." He grinned in that way that made people worry for his sanity and their suddenly shortened life span. Then he drooped, energy all gone. "You're right," he muttered, even though Arthur hadn't said anything. Though he _had_ looked very aghast. "It's a terrible idea."

 

"Ford, perhaps you should...relax a bit."

 

He suddenly looked very angry again. "I wanted to go home," he muttered, going back down the river. Arthur felt a surge of panic at seeing him leave, held his breath, and then trailed after him at a distance.

 

* * *

 

That night, he sat up with a start. He looked around frantically. Ford was still there, snoring, using his satchel as a makeshift and miserable pillow.

 

He lay back down again, his breathing slowed a bit.

 

* * *

 

"I'm sleepy," Arthur confessed to a tree. The trees here were the best friends he'd ever had. They'd never insulted him.

 

He sat down next to it, letting his head rest on the trunk. "I'm sleepy. I want tea. All these trees and there isn't a single one with tea leaves. And clothes. There's only so many times you can explode a dressing gown and still have it decent enough to wear."

 

Ranting felt nice. He hadn't done it in a while.

 

"I still don't even know what that sofa was doing," he continued, in a conspiratorial whisper. "I said I did, but I don't. Space, time, sofa, it's all the same around here. No physics about it."

 

He could swear the tree murmured in agreement.

 

"And I don't know how long my friend will stay," he said. "He's really dying for more furniture, and I'm afraid I have no means of affording it."

 

The tree was sympathetic.

 

"His name is Ford Prefect," he said, because he just realized he'd never introduced Ford to the tree. "I think he's more than a hundred years old? He told me he was from Guilford, but he's actually from a small planet in the vicinity of Betelgeuse."

 

The tree was impressed.

 

Ford came out of the cave and waved at him to come over, with what looked like a fish in his hand. To cook it, or to eat it, Arthur wasn't sure. "I'll be back soon," he told the tree, pushing himself up.

 

It turned out it was to cook it.

 

"How could you have survived for so long without knowing how to cook meat?" Arthur demanded.

 

"I do know. You just do it better."

 

Arthur scrunched his face up in thought, trying to figure out if it was a compliment or manipulation. Either way he was going to cook the fish, so he decided to give up on wondering and just do that.

 

Ford settled down next to him, pulling out the Sub Etha Sens O Matic from his satchel and fiddling with it. It remained utterly unresponsive, but Ford was determined to not lose hope.

 

Lost in thought, Arthur let his hand drop too close to the flame, or rather, right smack into the flame, and burned himself.

 

"Aaaaah!"

 

"What? What?"

 

"It burns!"

 

Ford blinked, something that he rarely did. Then he figured out what had happened and reached back into his satchel for his towel. "Hold on a second."

 

Arthur had no intention of holding on a second. "Stupid fish," he cursed. "Stupid fire. Stupid cave, stupid hill, stupid country, stupid planet, stupid time period -"

 

Ford had taken his towel out and was pouring cool water over it, reaching for his hand. "Arthur, calm down."

 

"Stupid Vogons," he insisted. "Stupid bar, stupid party, stupid rabbit, stupid tree, stupid mice - "

 

Ford wrapped the towel around his hand and tied it off, which cooled it down for a few pleasant seconds, and then the effect wore off. "Stupid computers, stupid life, stupid Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster - "

 

"Stop that, it's annoying."

 

"It's annoying, is it?" Arthur shrieked in a way that one would be hard pressed to call manly. "What about _living_ it?"

 

"Zarquon, what do you think I've been doing?"

 

"It's different for you! You were born in the galaxy!"

 

"And you were what, born in a coconut? Though I suppose you were - awful sheltered life that you lived on your sorry excuse for a planet..."

 

"Yes, yes, insult the dead and gone planet."

 

"I think that's sarcasm."

 

"Really? I haven't a clue."

 

"Don't make this harder. Besides, you insulted the planet yourself just now."

 

"I insulted it now. In the future it's better."

 

"Sure, sure."

 

"I want to go home, Ford."

 

Ford shook the Sub Etha Sens O Matic. "We'll get there. Soon."

 

Arthur shook his head. "My home is gone."

 

Ford stopped. He looked seriously pissed. "It's been what, five years? Six? How much longer are you going to go on about this?"

 

"It was my _planet!_ "

 

"Then maybe I should have let you go down with it! Would have saved me from listening to this."

 

Neither of them spoke after that. Arthur was reeling in shock, and Ford was just glad that the conversation was over. What he'd said had been rude, almost cruel, but he wasn't the type to offer an apology, and Arthur wasn't the type to demand one from him, so the silence persisted for the entire day, and the tension stayed just as thick.

 

* * *

 

That night, he sat up with a start. He looked around frantically. Ford was still there, snoring obnoxiously, using his satchel as a makeshift and miserable pillow.

 

He hated the fact that he still depended on him.

 

He lay back down again, his breathing slowed a bit, but mind far from calm.

 

* * *

 

He didn't think Arthur had slept in days.

 

He was looking more and more like a ghost. His eyes were perpetually red, he stumbled on his feet, and had even crashed into a couple of trees a few times. But any attempts on Ford's part to get him to sleep were waved off, sometimes viciously.

 

He followed Ford around almost everywhere - to the river to fish, to the forest to hunt, and to random spots that Ford just went to to see if Arthur would follow him that far. Sometimes he walked next to him; more often he trailed behind, close enough for Ford to see him but too far for them to have a decent conversation.

 

Not that they were having any of those recently. Arthur was much, much quieter around here than he had been back on the Heart of Gold, and before. Probably a result of not having spoken to anyone for four full years, but it had gotten worse recently. Maybe because of their argument, which Ford still hadn't apologized for and was never going to.

 

He sat at the fire, roasting a piece of fish on the end of a stick, and watching Arthur with narrowed eyes as he stumbled around, for reasons that only he would know.

 

"What are you looking for?" he asked at last.

 

"Rabbit pouch," Arthur said blearily. He was barely capable of standing up straight, with how tired he was. Ford had no clue what he was trying to accomplish.

 

He found the pouch next to him. He picked it up and handed it to his friend, who took it with a muttered thank you.

 

"Here, sit," he said, and handed him the fish on the stick. Arthur took that with a muttered thank you as well, and settled down on the other side of the fire to eat it.

 

They both ate in complete silence.

 

"It's a good day for being rescued," Ford said.

 

"Right," said Arthur.

 

"It's also a good day for eating fish."

 

"That's true."

 

"I suppose we have a good day either way."

 

"Right."

 

Ford gave up on the conversation, ate his fish, and sang to himself instead.

 

* * *

 

That night Ford didn't sleep.

 

He sat up in the darkness of the cave, clicking through the pages of the Guide. He read about all the planets and bars that he'd never be able to visit if he didn't get out of this hell hole. He read about the unique reproductive methods of various species, sunglasses that only grew on the moons of Unlayhiri Six, and rainbows that could be bottled and cultivated into gold.

 

At disturbingly regular intervals, Arthur sat up, looked around, and panicked until he saw his face. Ford tried asking him what his problem was, but he shook his head, forced a nervous smile, and lay back down.

 

It was weird.

 

* * *

 

After another week they ceased talking altogether.

 

Ford didn't think it was on purpose. Arthur still followed him around all day, Ford still sang to himself, and they still ate all their meals together. But not a single word was passed between them. It was starting to feel like those days when Ford had sat huddled in his own cave in Africa, starved for human interaction, regretting the stupidity with which he'd left his only friend on the planet. And he figured, if he felt the same way with Arthur that he did without him, he might as well go off on larger, grander adventures again, and perhaps even try going mad.

 

"Arthur," he said one night, as they lay on the damp floor of the cave in the dead of the night. "I'm leaving tomorrow."

 

There was a strange, choked silence. "You're what?" Arthur said weakly.

 

"I'm leaving. Perhaps somewhere close to Africa."

 

Again, the horrible silence.

 

"I'm not coming with you?"

 

Ford raised an eyebrow. "You don't even want to talk anymore, why would you want to go on an adventure?"

 

The silence dragged on. He was sure his friend was trying to say something, but he backed off each time. Ford eventually drifted asleep waiting for him to reply.

 

* * *

 

He couldn't do anything right.

 

The last time, he'd put his friend off by being too whiny. This time, he'd been too quiet.

 

He couldn't even say, _Ford, please don't leave_ , because then that would be the end. Ford hated people trying to hold him back. If he said that he was gone for sure.

 

If he didn't, he was gone for sure.

 

Ford was gone for sure, all because Arthur didn't know how to keep a friend. He'd had friends before, hadn't he? Hadn't he? Or had he always been alone and never realized it?

 

He fisted his hands in his hair, trying to calm his breathing. It would all be okay. He'd been alone for four years. He could do that again, right?

 

For...forever?

 

Right?

 

* * *

 

Ford woke abruptly to the sound of panicked breathing. "Arthur?" he mumbled into the darkness. He squinted, and saw the man sitting up with his head buried in his knees, clearly having a nervous breakdown.

 

Ford was up in an instant. "Arthur. Calm down." He pulled out his towel from his makeshift pillow and put it over his head, in some sort of attempt at a shock blanket. "Arthur!"

 

Arthur mumbled something incoherent, shaking uncontrollably. Ford was at a loss. He was used to his friend panicking, and almost as used to dismissing it as unimportant, but this was different, because firstly, Arthur wasn't ranting about anything, and secondly, he wasn't blaming Ford for all of his misfortunes.

 

He shook him by the shoulders, but Arthur refused to look up from his knees. Ford didn't think he even realized that Ford was there.

 

"Breathe," he said lamely. "Look at me. You need to breathe." He patted his shoulder, his cheek, trying to get his attention. Finally he tilted his face up and forced him to look at him.

 

"Breathe," he said again, staring at him intently. He'd practiced this on people before. It was hard for anyone to look away from his stare.

 

Arthur was no exception. Ford breathed slowly, never shifting his gaze. Slowly, Arthur began to follow him, until he seemed sufficiently calmed down.

 

Ford gave him a couple of minutes to collect himself. "So?" he started. "What happened?"

 

Arthur started to look away, but Ford's stare intensified, pinning him in place.

 

"I..." Arthur started, then swallowed lamely. They were both so uncool on this planet that Ford was almost glad that there was no one around to see.

 

"You?" he prompted.

 

"I don't think I can be alone again," Arthur said quietly.

 

"What?"

 

"If you leave. I don't want to be alone again."

 

Ford let go of his face in surprise. Arthur moved a couple of inches back, looking on the verge of panicking again.

 

"You can't be alone?" Ford said, aghast. Sure, it was a miserable thing and all, and he'd nearly been driven mad himself, but "You won't survive anywhere if you think like that."

 

"But there's no reason for you to go," Arthur mumbled.

 

"There is now," Ford said, frowning. "You can't depend on me that much." The key word in that statement being 'me'. If he was anyone else it would be fine, but Ford would vanish in the middle of the night if it struck his fancy. It was in his job description. And Arthur knew that - that was why they'd become such good friends in the first place. He could disappear for months together and then come back to his door at two AM, demand coffee, and tell him tales of his newest adventure with zero repercussions.

 

If Arthur had started expecting him to stay...He stood up abruptly, snatching his satchel from the ground. He couldn't do that for him, no matter how close they were. It was asking too much. "I can't stay."

 

He needed to get home someday. Home was freedom - anywhere he hadn't stayed too long.

 

Home was away from here.

 

He didn't look back when he walked away, feeling guilt for the first time since those giraffes.

 

* * *

 

Or at least, that was what he liked to think had happened.

 

In reality, all that Arthur had got around to saying was _I don't want to be alone again._

 

Ford had stared at him for two complete minutes, imagined the rest of the conversation in his head, picked up his satchel and left without another word.

 

* * *

 

Arthur Dent woke up screaming, which was nothing to worry about and perfectly normal.

 

It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, before he could confirm that yes, he was still alone, yes, he'd been alone for a week now, and no, that wasn't ever going to change.

 

This was also perfectly normal. In fact, everything about his day was perfectly normal. He fought with a tree that insulted his mother, fished and then let the fish back into the water, tried to stand on his head, failed, and ended up stuck in an awkward half-hand-stand for fifteen minutes.

 

Everything was just normal. So normal, in fact, that he was convinced that Ford Prefect had never come back after all and that he had hallucinated the whole thing. This, now that he thought about it was actually more plausible than the alternative.

 

He skinned another rabbit. This would come back to haunt him one day in the future, but he was blissfully unaware of it as of now.

 

Then, because it felt like he could never catch up on all the sleep he'd missed, he took a nap in the afternoon. When he slept he slept soundly, and he always woke up screaming.

 

It was a good routine. Routines were good.

 

He woke up some time before dinner, scraped together some food, sang to himself and to the trees, and then fell asleep again, safe and unfortunately still alive in his cave. He didn't wake up a single time in the night.

 

* * *

 

Ford trudged his way up along the river. Arthur's cave wasn't a hard one to find because it was the _only_ one you could find for a few miles around. It was, however, a pain to get to, from any corner of the planet.

 

Not for any particular reason. Its location just annoyed him. That was all.

 

It was night time when he reached the cave. A pathetic excuse for a fire burned half heartedly at the cave entrance. Ford spared a moment to fix it expertly - you picked up a few things living on a prehistoric planet - before stalking into the cave.

 

Arthur was curled into a ball near the cave wall in an attempt to ward off the cold. He had his towel draped over him, but it wasn't doing too good a job. Ford settled down next to him, fluffed up his satchel to make a pillow, and lay down, hands clasped at his stomach as he stared at the ceiling.

 

He wasn't a good friend. Forget good - he barely passed as a friend. He would always make a run for it.

 

But he would come back. Always. He'd never let Arthur down before. He'd kept him alive for more than ten years now, and it would be a shame to stop so soon.

 

Perhaps he'd wake up in the morning, see Ford next to him, and realize what a fool he had been for thinking he was going to be alone forever.

 

It was more likely that he would just scream.

 


End file.
